Together We Can Rule the World
by Bellantara
Summary: Sven was far more than he appeared. Romelle, intelligent and ambitious, was unwilling to be just a brainless Allura surrogate and broodmare. Thrown aside by those around them, they become a force to be reckoned with.
1. Chapter 1

He . . . he threw me away. Lotor. . .he just dragged me out of the Castle by my hair, and threw me into the Pit of Skulls. Like I was yesterday's trash. I thought I meant something to him, that my body had pleased him. But no. . . . I am not Allura, his precious porcelain princess, and so I am cast aside when he gets bored. Fool. With me at his side, he could have ruled the galaxy. But his lust blinds him to . . . more political possibilities, and because I cannot be mealy-mouthed Allura, he cast me aside. So be it. I sit up in the darkness, brushing myself off and trying to determine the best way out, when a sound makes me freeze.

"Vell, vell. . .vhat haf ve here, hm? Anoder reject?" The voice is everywhere and nowhere, deep and rich as burnished brass, reverberating in my very bones. "Long has it been since I fed on human blood . . . and Drule is sadly lacking. I may very vell haf to send Lotor a tank you note." The speaker emerges from the shadows, and my breath catches. Lady of the Stars. . .he's _gorgeous._ Towering over me, taller than even Lotor, slender and dark. And, oh, his _eyes._ I could get lost there; the midnight blue of twilight, with just a hint of slant to them. He strolls towards me with a predator's unhurried grace, his boots making no sound on the gravel, a black cloak sweeping behind him. "So beautiful, too," he whispers, that strange inflection still tinging his words. He raises a hand to caress my cheek. "A shame to kill you; but I must eat, ja?"

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've slapped his face. "Don't you dare touch me," I hiss. "I am Crown Princess Romelle of Pollux, and I yield to NO MAN."

His low laugh chills my blood. "Oh, such fire in you, little von. I like it. And as for yielding to no man. . . ." He steps back from me, his face sharpening and lengthening, his pupils becoming feline slits. . . and what I thought was a cloak flares over his shoulders, dividing into an enormous pair of wings. "I AM no man, Princess of Pollux. And you are mine."

It takes all the discipline I possess as a daughter of House Mandrigan not to stumble backward. "W-who are you? WHAT are you?"

"Such questions!" he tsks, walking around me. "Vell, it amuses me to answer such a fiery von. My name is Sven, first of all; and I am de last of de Decarabia clan. I haf lived four millennia, and I am. . .a demonic vampire."

For five minutes all I can do is stare at him, my mouth hanging open, as my brain refuses to work. Then something surfaces from my memory. "Sven. . . I know that name. You're with the Voltron Force."

His backhand takes me by surprise. "NEVER MENTION DAT NAME!" he roars, and I can see fangs lengthening in his mouth. "DEY BETRAYED ME, LEFT ME TO DIE!" He abruptly spins away from me, head and wings drooping. I feel rage and grief wash over me, and somehow know they're his, not mine. "Vhen I vant, I can appear as human as anyvon," he says softly. "Und it amused me to do so, to go to de Academy und become a Space Explorer. Novon knew dat I vas anyting but human; dey saw me as von of dem. Until . . . de vitch attacked Lance. I fought her off him, vas beating her . . . until she had her cat und robeast attack me." A shudder racks his frame. "It hurt so much. . . I cannot be killed, but I tought I vas dying. Und vit de pain und de blood loss . . . I lost my hold on my form, und dis is vhat Keit und Lance saw vhen dey found me." He turns and gestures towards himself. "Still can I see deir horror, deir disgust. All ve had been trough meant NOTING! Dey could not trow me on a ship heading off Arus fast enough."

Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm stepping forward and putting a hand on his arm. "They were wrong for that. You are who you are, and you had reasons for not showing your true self. Reasons they justified." He watches me, curious, and I press on. "You know, I don't think much of either side of this damned war. The 'good guys' left you to die, and me to rot in hell so long as their precious Allura was safe. Lotor threw me aside because I wasn't Allura, and will destroy the galaxy in the name of conquest and his mad obsession." I look up at Sven, suddenly shy. "We could do better than all of them, if we join forces."

"'Ve', little von?" His voice is rich with amusement. "Vhat is dis 've'? You are to be my dinner, remember?" His hand comes up, tracing the pulse in my neck with pointed black nails.

I fight to keep my voice steady, for more reasons than one, and make it low and husky. "Oh, come now, Sven. Surely you are wise enough to not waste an opportunity when you see it?" He tilts his head, and I continue, walking around him. "With your power and my knowledge, we could be a force to be reckoned with."

He smiles darkly, fangs showing. "Und vhat knowledge do you tink you haf, dat I haf not acquired in four thousand years, _prinsesse_? Tell me, is it so valuable as to trade for your life?"

 _You are the Princess Royal of House Mandrigan. Remember your training._ "I know who holds power in the Denubian. Who is allied with whom, who is a threat, who is laughable." I lift my chin to meet his midnight gaze. "I know Castle Doom inside and out; we could overthrow Zarkon and Lotor, rule the galaxy ourselves."

He shakes his long dark hair, and my heart stops. "I haf ruled kingdoms before, little von. I haf no desire to be lord and master of all. You vill haf to do better dan dat; I am hungry."

I have to force myself not to step back from him. "One meal, and back to skulking in the shadows, surviving as best you can? You're better than that, Sven; I know you are. Aren't you tired, lonely?" I bring one hand to caress his jaw, inhumanly smooth. "Don't you want a home, where you can be yourself, unafraid? I can give you that. Let me in, Sven. I swear you won't regret it."

The amusement is back. "Much do you tink of yourself, little _prinsesse._ But . . . you make very valid points. I grow weary of hiding. Und a vorld all our own, to live our own lives . . . dat has some appeal. Perhaps ve can come to an agreement."

 _Dark Weaver, Mistress of the Fates, thank you!_ I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "What sort of agreement do you propose, then?"

He sits on a rock, and waves me to one just beyond his reach. "As I said, I haf no interest in being lord und master of anyting. But . . . you intrigue me, little von. Rarely haf I found a female vit your combination of intelligence, ambition, und ruthlessness. I vould help YOU to rule. I vould be your enforcer, und I vould teach you vhat I know. In exchange I ask for your company, und de occasional unfortunate soul to dine on." The fangs flash again.

It's exactly what I want. His power and skill combined with mine would be unstoppable. I have only one problem. "You do not seem to get much benefit for a great deal of effort on your part," I observe slowly, smoothing my ragged dress over my knees. "My company . . . my life will pass in the blink of an eye to you; hardly worth your time and effort."

"My time and effort are mine to do vit as I choose," he counters smoothly. "However . . . you do make a valid point. And in response I will offer someting to benefit us bot." I motion for him to go on, and he continues, "My clan . . . vonce ve vere human, vhich is vhy ve can appear to be so. De story of how ve came to be is old, und too long to tell just now. De important part is. . ." he fixes me with an intense gaze. "Ve haf de ability to make humans into our kind. Vit all of our strength und power, all of our immortality. De tradeoff is dat never vill you be able to haf children of your own body."

"That is no hardship. I never wanted children, but that is all the value my 'loving family' saw in me." I shake away the bad memories. "What do I need to do? How long will it take?" I bite my lip. "Will . . . will it hurt?"

That chuckle of his again, dark and rich as my best velvet gowns. "It vill hurt a little; alvays is dere pain vit being born, ja? It vill be quick, little von, I promise. Und all you must do . . . is let me drink of you, den drink of me in turn." My startlement—fine, panic—must show in my face; he quickly adds, "On my vord as Decarabia, little von. I vill take no more den needed for de change, und vill see to it dat you haf vhat you need immediately. I so swear on my clan name and honor."

I can see his sincerity, and what that oath means to him. How can I choose any differently? "Tell me what I need to do, Sven."

"Come sit on my lap, little von," he says gently, extending a hand to me. "It is cold, und you vill become colder as I drink. I vill keep you varm."

Hesitantly I come and perch on his knees; his left arm goes around my waist, and his wings wrap around us both. I haven't felt so warm and protected since . . . since my mother died birthing Bandor. Awkwardly I lean my head back, exposing the beating vein in my neck. "I'm ready."

A finger traces my pulse. "Oh, so tempting . . . but no, not vhen I hunger. I do not trust my control so." A callused hand circles my wrist, gently lifting it from my lap. "Close your eyes, little Romelle." I do as told; a sharp pain flashes through my arm, but Sven's grip keeps me from flinching away. Then I feel the blood being pulled from my vein, and go limp against Sven's shoulder as he takes it in. I'm almost unconscious when I feel something warm and wet against my own lips. "Drink, little von. Quickly; you must drink to live."

I can't think, can't feel my body. Dazedly I take what's offered, greedily sucking on what has to be Sven's own wrist, taking his blood as he took mine. Far too soon, he pulls away from me, ignoring my whimper of protest as he lays me down on the floor of the cave. As I lose my fight to stay aware, his voice wraps around me. "Sleep, Romelle. Sleep now, und vhen you vake . . .vhen you vake, you vill be reborn."


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up in a lush nest of silk and fur. A fitful light overhead shows me a room carved from rock, bare except for a trunk and my apparently borrowed bed. Without thinking, I sit up and stretch . . . only to curl up with a gasp as my back suddenly burns. "Easy, easy," a soft, familiar voice says as a cool, callused hand brushes my hair back. "Breathe, slow and deep, _lille prinsesse._ The pain will pass."

Memory comes back; Sven, what he was, what he did to me. . . "Hurts," I gasp. "What's happening?"

He moves to where I can see him. "Your body is changing, Romelle. Shedding its humanity, healing from the damage done to it. I can help with the pain, if you just breathe and trust me. Can you do that?"

Trust . . . he asks much. But what choice do I have? I force a deep, ragged, breath, then another. "Tell me . . . what to do."

Sven takes my hands in his. "Just look into my eyes, _lille._ And do not look away. I will do the rest." The pain flares into agony before I can question him; I clutch at his hands and meet that midnight blue gaze, getting lost in its depths, leaving the pain far behind me. "That's it, relax . . . I have you, sleep now."

The next thing I know, the light above me is gone, but the room seems to glow as though I'm seeing it through night vision goggles. I push the too-warm furs away and sit up slowly, conscious of an odd weight on my back and the most intoxicating _smell.. . ._ I'm so hungry, it smells like Cook's best prime rib, oh, where IS IT?

"She rises at last," Sven's voice chuckles from the doorway, impossibly darker and richer than it had been. "And ravenous, too, I expect. Good thing I secured . . . dinner." He comes into the room carrying a goblet and pitcher, wings cloaking his shoulders like when I first saw him, and perches on the side of the bed with boneless grace. The glorious smell is coming from the pitcher and goblet, and it takes all my Court training not to snatch them from his hands. "Here, _lille._ Drink all you like, there is plenty. But slowly, ja?" He hands me the goblet slowly, eyes never leaving mine.

I take a slow sip, a small part of my mind protesting that it's _blood_ , human blood, and I can't possibly drink it . . . can I? Then the liquid hits my tongue, and the protest is silenced for all time. Warm, rich, sweet and coppery; the best thing I've ever tasted in my life. I drain the goblet, heedless of Sven's direction to go slow; he fills it again, expressionless, then again until I finally sit back against the pillows, sighing in contentment.

He sets the containers aside and draws his legs up to sit opposite me, wrapped in his wings. "So . . . now that you are fed, I suspect you have questions, ja?"

He has NO idea. Hundreds, thousands of questions swarm my thoughts; I don't know what to ask first! A voice fills the room; to my horror, it's MINE. "What happened to your accent?" Blessed Ancients, Romelle! All the things to ask and you come up with THAT?

Sven stares at me for a minute, then laughs as I blush furiously. "A good question, if . . . completely unexpected. The answer is that it is a part of my disguise, not real. I have spoken English and Norse for centuries and have long since lost any accent to my speech. But feigning the accent adds to the appearance of humanity." He grins. "People are less likely to question de von dey tink does not quite understand, ja?"

I giggle in spite of myself, which is probably what he intended, then sober. "So . . . what happens now? What do I need to know?"

He sobers as well, drawing his knees up and wrapping arms and wings around them. "You know you are no longer human. You still breathe, but you no longer need to consume food. Your main nourishment will come from blood, as you can guess." A graceful hand indicates the discarded pitcher and goblet. "Eventually, you will drink directly from the source; it is much better for you that way. But I thought this would be easier for your first time." I nod my gratitude, and he continues. "You are far stronger than a human woman now; you will come close to my own strength." He glances at me with a shy smile. "And, _lille prinsesse,_ you can fly. You have wings."

Wings? Oh! Of course, _that's_ what's weighing my back! As I think of them, one sweeps over my shoulder, the tip landing in my lap. So beautiful! I reach to stroke the feathers hesitantly, sucking in a breath at their beauty. Deep red, tipped in black, with a gold shimmer to them. . .and softer than my finest velvet gowns. They feel _so good_ under my stroking fingers, I can't stop touching them . . . until I hear myself moan in pleasure, and snatch my hand away as though burned. Blushing furiously, I peek at Sven through the curtain of my hair. His expression is fleetingly strange, but settles into amusement. "So, what now?" I squeak.

He's doing his very best not to outright laugh at me, I can tell. "Now? Now I teach you, _lille prinsesse._ I gave to you my knowledge with my blood; you just have to be taught to access it, and your body trained to actually use it."

I nod as regally as I can with my dignity still in tatters. "And then. . . then we deal with Lotor. And make this world our own." I lock eyes with him. "Let's get started."


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks has it been, since the _lille prinsesse_ fell into my lap, her rage and spirit intoxicating, her passionate words enough to cause me to turn her, the first I have turned in five centuries, to pledge to stand at her side as she rules. Much has she learned since then, and learns more every day. Soon we will be ready to leave the caves, and bring all Doom to their knees at Romelle's feet. Even now, she can near hold her own against me, so long as I do not invoke my greater strength, and I have taught her only those things I learned in this lifetime, at the Academy.

It is a crime of the highest order, what has been done to her. Such an exquisite woman, the likes of which I have not seen in untold centuries, and her blood would sell her to a monster as broodmare, and the monster cast her aside simply because she is not another woman. I harbor no illusions that I am anything but a monster myself, but that . . . that is truly reprehensible on all sides. Romelle is truly magnificent, in body and mind, far too much so to be wasted as an empty-headed bedroom toy.

As I watch her practice with her new short sword and dagger, getting used not only to the weapons but to her new strength and speed, I am reminded of the shieldmaidens that fought at my side so long ago, when the Decarabia were the elite warriors of the Viking nation. Were I to believe in such a thing, I would think her one of them reborn. But no; she is a warrior in her own right, with enough motivation for a thousand battles. And she will set this galaxy ablaze; I merely hand her the torch to light the waiting inferno.

Her warmth at my side, together with her heady scent of honeyed spice, pulls me from my thoughts. "I think that went well," she murmurs, her soft smoky voice sparking desires in me I thought long buried. With a surprising effort, I focus on her.

"Ja, it did, _lille._ You learn most quickly." Her face lights up at my praise, as always—damn those who raised her without any such words—and I continue, "I think perhaps next week we can begin our raids, thinning the guards out before we attack the Castle itself."

"Lotor is mine," she growls intently; the words and the wave of determination coming off her make me shiver, but I ignore it. "Promise me, Sven; I get to kill the rapist bastard."

"My word as Decarabia," I swear, not pointing out that the vow in no way precludes me from. . . hastening the loathsome prince's appointment with Hel.

Romelle edges closer to me, determination fading, a vulnerable look on her face. "You won't leave me, will you? Ever? I don't want to be alone again."

What heart I have breaks at her words, and I drape my wing over hers, drawing her into an embrace. "I cannot promise ever, _prinsesse;_ it is far too infinite a thing for our people. I promise you to stay at your side as long as I can, and my leaving, should it happen, will not be done lightly." I hesitate, then kiss the top of her head. She startles, still unused to positive attention, then relaxes against my side, one slender arm slipping around my waist.

"First we secure Doom, then. . . . Pollux or Arus?" she asks coolly, staring out into the darkness. I can feel the tension in her though, the need to avenge herself on those who sold her, who were supposed to be her staunchest protectors.

"Your choice, _min prinsesse._ " I choose my words carefully. "Arus will not be so easy a target, and it might be best to have more than just Doom at our backs before we go there." What I cannot yet admit to her—can barely admit to myself—is that in spite of all, I miss those I called brother, if but for a moment, and truly wish them no harm, though I know I will never trust them to fight at my side again.

She nods against me. "You're right, of course." Then her voice drops so low even my enhanced hearing has trouble picking her words up. "What would I do without you? I would have died alone at the bottom of that pit. I need you, want you. . . and that frightens me. I don't know that I like it." Without another word, she's gone, vanishing back into her living quarters.

I've taken two steps to follow her when her words sink in, stopping me in my tracks as I realize . . . I want her too, need her as I have no other in all my millennia. And that brings back a near-forgotten memory of a conversation with my mother, when I was about to come of age:

 _"One thing you must understand, and remember well, my Sventachar." She turned from the window of our keep, gazing at me with the intense grey eyes I inherited from her. "Many partners do the Decarabia have in their time; their nature and charisma makes them nigh-irresistible when they so choose. But. . . only one will ever be their mate, if indeed they are lucky enough to find a mate."_

 _"How will I know, Mamma?"_ I really wasn't interested in a forever mate; after all, I was barely a century old, and more interested in getting with as many girls as my immortal stamina and charm would net me. But I had to pay attention to Mamma, and asking questions served the purpose well.

 _"According to your father's manuscripts, her scent and presence will intoxicate you like no other ever has or will."_ Mamma looked wistful for a moment; she WAS NOT Pappa's mate, and he had made it quite clear to her before he was slain. _"You will desire her greatly, and she you; you will be willing to kill if she but asks it of you."_

"So, so," I whisper to myself as I shake off the memory. "The little _prinsesse_ is my mate? I do not think that will please her much." But it is a thing we need to discuss, and so I set off for the cave she claimed as her sleeping quarters.

Much to my surprise, she isn't there. Nor is she in any of her other usual spots. I am not too worried; I would know if she had left the caves. Still. . . it is unlike her to vanish so completely. I wander into my own quarters, pondering where she could have gone. . . and look up to see her in the center of my bed, covered only by her wings. _Gud i himmeln_ , what a sight. Scarlet and gold wings against blonde hair and creamy skin. . . . my blood is on fire, and my pulse racing, if I had one. "R-Romelle? Little _prinsesse_ , what are you doing?"

"I want you to make me yours," she murmurs, looking down at her lap. "I don't want to be hurt again, I. . .I just want someone who's kind. And you've been kind. Please, Sven? Show me what I've missed?"

I have to sit down—as far from her as possible—and tell my body no, it is NOT going to take her right here and now. "Oh, my Romelle . . . what you ask. You ask more than you know, and I must explain it to you." Quietly I explain the concept of mates to her, telling her everything I can remember Mamma telling me so long ago. Finally I run out of words, and look at her helplessly, waiting for a reaction.

Her blue eyes are wide, and the combination of hope, fear, and attraction coming off her very nearly snap what control I have. "Y-you think _I'M_ your mate? _ME?_ Sven, I can't be; y-you don't want me, not really. I'm too young, I'm horrible in bed, Lotor said so, and-"

I cross the space between us in a blink, silencing her with a finger to her lips. "I care nothing for what Lotor told you. Of course he would say such things; you were not his darling Allura. And—" I smile gently at her. " _Lille prinsesse_ , _any_ woman is too young for me. Age bothers me not; we have eternity. So. . . Ja, you COULD be my mate. I am certain of it. But . . . it is your choice, Romelle. I will not force it upon you."

A small hand cups my cheek; I close my eyes and lean into the touch. "You really want me? You—you LOVE me?"

"As I have no other in all my time. . . _elske_ ," I answer her softly, hesitantly calling her beloved for the first time and realizing just how much I mean it. "But you must know; if you accept this, it is forever. There is no breaking it, but by death. What I think and feel, you will know, always; so, too, will I know your thoughts and emotions. Be sure, _lille prinsesse._ "

I suddenly find myself with arms and lap full of naked blonde former princess. "I am. Sven, these last three weeks. . .no one has ever made me feel so wanted and cherished. I want more of that. I never want to be alone again. I want. . . I want you to teach me, show me how to love you. Please?"

It would take a far colder heart than mine to refuse that plea, especially when it comes with tear-filled blue eyes. "As you wish, _min elskede_ , my beloved." I kiss her, slow and gentle, one hand cupping the back of her head to guide her in the kiss, stretching us out on my bed as it ends. "To you I give all I am; my body, my heart, my mind. My love to nurture and heal you, my desire to warm you, my strength to protect you." A nip of my fangs, and the dark blood wells from my wrist; Romelle instinctively mirrors my actions and holds her own delicate wrist out to me. A taste, and we heal each other. With trembling hands she removes my clothing, and as we begin the most timeless dance known to any race, our shared desire reflecting between us, inflaming us, I claim my mate, she claims me.


End file.
